The most remarkable substance on Earth
Idea
In this column, we offer hot (and cold) takes on popular culture, deciding whether a topic is overrated or not.
Tom Joyce
Every year around this time, we turn our attention to a substance that could embarrass us, burn down the house, or even save our lives on a good day; not always in this order.
Fire officials warn us about this. We control ourselves without even thinking. And if extreme survival advocates are to be believed, we shouldn’t leave our underground bunkers or rented suburbs without a little supplies.
For poets, that durable, impractical breed, the feather is primarily a metaphor. But don’t let them pretend they aren’t silently worried about their apartment being set on fire, too.
Depending on the origin story, feathers attract and repel in equal measure. Fire officials insist it must be removed frequently to prevent spontaneous combustion, leaving it looking like a tiny, self-immolating house fairy.
We don’t know if the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre thought beyond deregulating feathers to prevent fire. But if he had, he could have said that it fills the space between objects because it has mass; The process is constantly occurring; and because the phenomenon occurs without our consent.
Poets, French or not, see in the lint a slow dissolution: a shedding of man-made tinder, a shameful, sometimes destructive, sometimes fatal accumulation. The silent collapse of the order that was somehow a potential savior.
Ah, feather – belly button, toenail, tumble dryer – we know you so little, we respect you even less, we are often ashamed of you, yet you can save our lives when we are in danger.
You’d do well to ignore the old advice that you shouldn’t just sit around and ‘navel-gaze’ in an emergency.
You reportedly caused a fire that disabled the aircraft carrier USS Gerald Ford in the early days of the Iran war, accomplishing something that missiles and drones of various shapes and sizes could not. Who needs armor-piercing ammunition when laundry fire will do?
Lint buildup in the dryer is now one of the leading causes of home fires. It wasn’t always like this. In the far-off 20th century (after dinosaurs but before the iPhone), when Hills Hoist rotated proudly in Australian backyards and off-white Bonds underwear fluttered on dangling clotheslines, the family dryer lint branch did not exist. Belly button fluff, yes. Toenail hairs (especially from the big toes), yes. But washer dryer lint? Not yet.
Long before you entered and transformed our domestic lives, you burned down industrial laundries and threatened the hotels and hospitals connected to them. On a damp, cool day, a small risk of fire is certainly a small price to pay for warm sheets.
But enough about dryers. Belly buttons and toenails have just as much to offer, and probably more. When the apocalypse comes, when we’ve long left our last matchbox behind and try to start a fire to cook our freshly caught turkey, only billionaire preppers will be safely tucked away in underground lairs equipped with gas stoves. The rest of us will have to improvise.
At this point, you’d do well to ignore the old advice that you shouldn’t just sit around and “navel-gaze” in an emergency. On the contrary, navel gazing and scratching could save your life.
The lint may be embarrassing – few people would be proud to see it pierced through their belly button – but consider the plight of our unique humans who cook turkeys and survive. Raw turkey tonight? Unthinkable.
Lint may sound like a slow decay, but it has a surprising effect on the way out. Belly button fluff is actually pre-fluffed tinder: tiny fibers popping up from your clothes, mixed with burning flakes of dry skin, lightly coated with even better-burning body oils, and naturally compressed into a small, aerated, incendiary ball. This is the human body’s serendipitous microkindling kit, perfect for those moments when you’re uniquely unique.
Lint is the one substance that can light your campfire, burn down your house, disable an aircraft carrier, and inspire poets and philosophers to find metaphor and meaning.
In a world that demands one takeaway: check your belly button for hair before you leave the house. If the apocalypse comes while you’re out and about, at least you’ll be able to cook a hot meal.
